


Black & Blue

by silver_etoile



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, M/M, Mixed Martial Arts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:49:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28030437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_etoile/pseuds/silver_etoile
Summary: MMA is not a sport as far as Martino is concerned, but Luca's new fighter is definitely someone Martino takes notice of.
Relationships: Eva Brighi/Giovanni Garau, Niccolò Fares/Martino Rametta
Comments: 12
Kudos: 47





	Black & Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://azozzoni.tumblr.com).

The only sport worth watching, in Martino’s not-so humble opinion, is football. Anything else is simply white noise. He wouldn’t say it’s because of the hot guys in shorts or the weird homo-eroticism the players seem to share but constantly deny. It’s because football is a real sport. 

Not like Mixed Martial Arts, which Martino still doesn’t entirely understand no matter how many times Luchino tries to explain it or invites Marti to matches. In his mind, it’s just a confusing mix of boxing, wrestling, and martial arts. Even Luca’s insistance that the fighters don’t wear shirt isn’t enough to tempt Martino to care.

Whenever Luchino starts talking about the guys he coaches down at the gym, Martino always finds his mind wandering to other things. Like the girl at work who keeps flirting with him even though he’s pretty sure he’s made it abundantly clear he has zero interest. It hasn’t stopped Emma from dropping by his desk every morning to say hello and twirl her long hair around her finger. As if he’s at all attracted.

Don’t get him wrong—he’s happy that Luca has finally found a job that hasn’t made him a sad drunk every time the guys go out. At least here, Luca seems to actually enjoy what he’s doing. It’s more than Martino can say about the exciting world of drug research. Maybe if he was actually _doing_ the research, but he spends most of his time entering data and avoiding Emma’s flirty gazes.

It’s pure necessity that actually takes Martino down to the gym because Luchino isn’t answering any of the group’s texts about the group dinner, which Gio seems particularly adamant that everyone be there. He’s already annoyed that he has to go find Luchino, and the fact that the gym isn’t far from the lab, hidden down a long alley in the backstreets of Rome, doesn’t make it better. If Martino wasn’t following directions on his phone, he wouldn’t quite believe a gym could be hidden down here.

A blast of sound reaches his ears when Martino finally finds the barely readable sign outside the gym doors and steps inside. He’s surprised at the crowd inside—fully-grown men shouting and cheering at something Martino can’t see as he weaves his way carefully inside, skirting the crowd and wending around punching bags and weight-lifting stations, trying to peer for Luca in the crowd.

He can’t see him among the people crowded around what looks like a boxing ring. There are two guys in the ring, one with a clear black-eye, puffing up even as Martino grimaces. He prefers his sports with more sweat than blood.

A guy standing at the back of the crowd, craning his head to watch, looks like someone who might actually work there, and Martino steps up to him.

“I’m looking for Luca?” he says, has to shout over the noise of the crowd, the loud smack of a foot against bare skin in the ring.

“He’s probably in the back,” the guy replies without even looking at Martino, too focused on whatever’s going on in the ring. He does jerk his head at a black door to his right, though, and Martino takes that as the only information he’s going to get.

The door blocks out some of the noise and Martino steps carefully into a dim room filled with a maze of lockers.

“You did good.” He hears Luca’s voice before he sees him, gentle and reassuring. “You landed some hits and you stayed on your feet… until the knockout.”

“Luchi—” Martino says as he steps around the corner of lockers, expecting to find Luca with some poor sad sack of a fighter, beaten and bruised, but what he finds is something completely different.

The guy is bruised, for sure, angry red spots blossoming on his rib cage, with what looks like a scratch over his collarbone, but he is far and away not any sort of sad sack. Martino feels a punch to the gut as he stares at the guy sitting on the bench next to Luca, dabbing at the blood dripping from his nose with a white towel, stained crimson as he meets Martino’s eyes.

Martino doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but fuck, he definitely believes in immediate attraction, and this guy is it. He’s got tight, perfectly-sculpted abs, hips bones visible even when sitting, disappearing under his shorts, and Martino feels himself swallow. It’s not just the body, though, the muscles visible in his arm as he lowers the towel. He’s all sharp angles, high cheekbones, soft-looking lips, shiny black hair tumbling in curls over his forehead, and it makes Martino’s chest clench, unexpected, confused, dumb-struck as Luca glances at him.

“Hey, Marti, what are you doing here?”

It takes a second for Martino to register Luca’s question, still staring at the guy, who has a dried trail of blood under his nose that Martino shouldn’t find attractive, but it’s making his stomach do weird little flips. The guy seems to smile slightly as Martino blinks.

“Uh, you weren’t answering your phone,” Martino says, trying to remember that he’s annoyed. He’s annoyed at having to come all the way down here just to get an answer out of Luca. He wouldn’t have normally, but the gym was close by and Gio had asked. “Gio’s being really weird about dinner. He just wants to make sure you’re coming.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” Luca says easily, digging in his pocket for his phone and making a face at the notifications Martino can see even from here. “Sorry, there was a match and I wasn’t paying attention.”

Martino just nods, sneaking another glance at the guy on the bench. The guy is definitely smiling now, and it doesn’t help in how good-looking he already is. How can one person be so beautiful? Marti finds himself thinking, even covered in bruises, even with blood dripping from his nose. Why does he suddenly want to know everything about MMA?

“This is Niccolò,” Luca says, as if he doesn’t notice how Martino is trying very hard not to stare. “He’s one of my fighters!”

“Hi,” Martino says slowly, knowing he’s being weird, knowing he should stop his gaze from traveling down Niccolò’s stomach.

Niccolò’s smile widens, and Martino’s stomach turns over, nervous. “Martino, was it?”

Martino clears his throat, awkward. “Yeah.”

The thing is, Martino knows he has a type, and it isn’t dumb jocks who throw themselves into a ring just to see how much they can get beat up. But he does have a thing for dark hair and bright smiles, and apparently guys who can look like Niccolò does right now and still seem perfectly happy about it.

“Did you win?” he asks because he can’t think of anything else as Luca is busy typing replies into his phone. They do need to get going to meet the rest of the guys at the restaurant, but Martino isn’t in the rush he was a few minutes ago.

“Nope,” Niccolò says, bright, as though he’s not particularly sad about it.

“You don’t seem sad.”

Niccolò laughs, dabbing away a bit more blood. “I don’t fight to win.”

Martino frowns. “Then why—”

“Oh, shit, we’re gonna be late,” Luca interrupts, jumping up from the bench, as if _now_ he cares.

Martino wants to say something to stop Luca, though he doesn’t know what or why, except that he wants just a few more minutes to stare at Niccolò, but that’s creepy even for him. There’s something severely wrong with him. Or maybe Niccolò is just that good-looking.

Martino has never had a thing for bruises, for blood, for anything _rough_ , but apparently he just hasn’t thought about it properly.

Even as Martino’s mind wanders to places it shouldn’t be, Niccolò smiles at him, as if maybe he knows. Martino is saved from wondering exactly what Niccolò is thinking as Luca grabs his arm and turns him towards the door.

“Bye, Nico!” Luca calls over his shoulder, and Martino stumbles along beside him, as if his legs are surprised to be going in the opposite direction. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

They’re out the locker room door and through the rest of the gym before Martino can blink.

“What’s the rush?” Martino snaps, pulling his arm from Luca’s grip.

Luca looks surprised at the question. “We’re late to meet Gio.”

“You’re always late,” Martino reminds Luca as they walk further and further from the gym, further and further from Nico’s smile, the way his eyes had flicked down Martino just a split-second before Luca had grabbed him. Martino’s not so delusional to believe every guy who smiles at him is gay, but it doesn’t stop him from hoping.

“But he said it was important,” Luca says, as if that makes a difference.

Sighing, Martino figures there’s no point in arguing. He doesn’t have an argument anyway except that he wanted to look at Niccolò just a tiny bit longer. How stupid.

Still, he can’t help glancing at Luca as they round a corner. “How long have you been coaching Niccolò?”

Luca shrugs, zipping up his jacket as a chill autumn breeze sweeps down the sidewalk, oblivious to why Martino is asking. “A couple months.”

_A couple months,_ Martino thinks, shaking his head. A couple months and Luca had not once mentioned he was coaching the hottest guy on earth. Then again, this was Luchino, Martino reminds himself as the restaurant comes into view. Luca hadn’t gotten that Martino was gay until he literally had to sit him down and tell him directly to his face. Martino doubts Luca had even noticed that Nico was good-looking.

Of course, if Martino had actually gone to a match like Luca had asked, maybe he would have already known that. Damn his own stubbornness.

“Is he any good?” Martino asks, and Luca smiles, as if surprised and pleased that Martino finally seems interested.

“He’s quick and he’s got a good punch, but sometimes he forgets that he has to pay attention to everything going on around him.”

Martino nods as if he knows anything about how MMA is fought. He’s not even sure they have rules, to be honest. Pulling open the restaurant door, he lets Luca in first and follows after.

“There’s another match next week,” Luca says eagerly as Martino spots Gio and Elia already set up at a table. “Maybe you could come!”

“Uh, maybe,” Martino says, changing the subject quickly as they reach the table. “Been waiting long?”

“Half a beer,” Elia mutters, sounding annoyed. “ _Someone_ refused to say anything until we were all here.”

Gio rolls his eyes, but he looks fidgety as Luca and Martino take their seats.

“I just want everyone to hear it at the same time.”

Martino’s eyes narrowed. “Are you moving? ‘Because if you’re leaving us—”

“No, no,” Gio interrupts, scoffing, as though it’s a stupid assumption. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Martino relaxes slightly. He’s pretty sure Gio would have told him on his own if it was something like that, but you never know. He wasn’t sure what could be so important that they all had to hear it together, though, and he wished he had a beer as Gio shifted in his chair, almost nervous.

“Well, what the hell is it?” Elia demands, ever tactless, reaching for his beer as Gio takes a breath.

“Eva’s pregnant.”

Elia chokes on his beer as the words wash over the table. For a second, no one says anything as Gio looks round at all of them.

“You sure it’s yours?” Martino says finally, breaking the silence as Gio rolls his eyes, smiling.

“Fuck off.”

“Holy shit,” Elia breathes as if he can’t quite believe it. “You’re gonna have a kid.”

“A baby Gio!” Luca pipes up excitedly, and a grin finally breaks Gio’s face, as though he might have actually been worried about their reactions.

It’s not a surprise, not really. After all, Gio and Eva have been married for a couple years already, but somehow, it hits Martino in a way he doesn’t expect. The first one to have kids in their group. Gio has always been the first, though. The first one to get married. The first one to realize something was wrong with Martino back in school. The first friend he ever made.

It’s a weird feeling because Martino knows he’s supposed to be happy for Gio. He _is_ happy for Gio, but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s falling behind somehow.

“We need more beers,” Elia says, waving at the server as Luca rattles off a list of potential names for Baby Garau.

“Hey,” Gio says, quiet, next to Martino, and Marti realizes he hasn’t said anything else. “You okay?”

Martino almost laughs. Of course Gio is concerned about him when this news should be all about Gio. He shakes his head.

“You’re gonna be a dad,” he says slowly, watching how Gio smiles, like it’s all the happiness he’s ever wanted. “You’re gonna be the best dad.”

“Shut up,” Gio mutters, but Martino catches the way the tips of his ears go red even as Gio shoves him away.

Martino is completely serious, though, and he knows Gio knows it. Gio is going to be an amazing dad and Martino’s only romantic prospects currently are a girl who can’t take a hint and an MMA fighter who is going to live mostly in his fantasies, he’s sure.

This isn’t about him, though, and he shakes away whatever’s pulling him down as the server brings more beers and they cheers to Eva, Gio, and Baby Garau.

*

Martino has had serious relationships. He dated a guy for almost two years in university, but that had kind of fallen apart when the guy cheated on him. Since then, he’s dated a few people, but nothing really serious. Nothing where he really considered a future. His friend, Filippo, says that thinking about the future is for straight people. Martino doesn’t quite agree.

It’s not the future Martino is thinking about as he sits at his desk in the back of the lab, inputting data into the system, eyes blurring as he stares at the numbers. Instead, his mind is wandering to last Saturday, to Niccolò sitting hunched on the bench, a bruise spreading over his rib cage. He wonders if it’s still red or if it has darkened to purple, what that might look like against Nico’s golden skin.

Not that he’s ever going to find out, Martino reminds himself sharply, bringing his gaze from where it had drifted to a rack of tubes sitting on the file cabinet. He probably won’t see Nico again.

“Marti!” Emma’s voice makes Martino frown, immediate, before she comes around the desk. “A few of us were going to go out for drinks after work. I thought you might want to come.”

If Martino was straight, he thinks he could be into Emma. She’s tall and slim with a sizable chest, he supposes, not that he cares. But he’s not straight, and he isn’t interested.

So he puts on his worst smile. “I can’t,” he lies, wracking his brain for an excuse. “I promised my friend I’d help him out with something.”

“Oh,” Emma says, pausing. “What are you helping him with?”

_Fuck._

“He works at that gym around the corner,” he hears himself say, grasping for anything as she watches him, like she knows he’s lying. “They do, like, MMA matches. I said I’d help set up.”

He has no idea when they do matches, if there’s even any set-up to do. But it’s the first thing that pops into his head, and she seems to believe him.

“Okay,” she says easily, stepping away from the desk. “Next time, you’re coming with us. No arguments.”

Marti tries to flash her a smile as she leaves, though it’s probably more of a grimace than anything, and he only groans to himself the second she disappears. He could just tell her he’s gay, but that opens him up to everyone else at work finding out. It’s not a huge secret, but he doesn’t think everyone needs to know his personal business.

He just wishes she would take the hint.

Sinking back in his chair, Martino sighs. He’s not sure how many excuses he has left until he’ll just have to tell her straight-up he’s not interested. In his experience, people don’t take that well.

He still has several pages of numbers to input, and Martino drags his mind back into place. If he had a boyfriend, he could honestly tell her he was seeing someone. But Martino doesn’t have a boyfriend, and spending his off-time fantasizing about talking to Niccolò, running his hands over his stomach, pressing his fingers into the bruise and hearing Nico gasp, doesn’t count.

He’s not going to get anything done by letting his mind wander again, and Martino shakes his head, blinking at his screen. He’s not going to live out any of his fantasies with Niccolò. And that’s that.

*

Martino isn’t sure how he ends up at the gym door except that Emma had been right there when he’d left work, a group of chattering women that Martino didn’t know with her. They’d gone the exact direction he usually did to head for the bus, so he’d been forced to turn the opposite direction and let his feet carry him down the alley to Luca’s gym.

He supposes he could double back. Emma and the rest of his coworkers are probably long gone by now. But he doesn’t, pausing as he reaches for the door before shaking away whatever second-thoughts surface.

The gym is much quieter this time, music playing through the speakers, the sounds of punches landing on the bags, guys grunting as they hoist weights over their heads.

Luca is easy to spot today, but it isn’t Luca that catches Martino’s attention. It’s Niccolò punching the bag Luca is holding. He has a shirt on this time, Martino notices, disappointed. He’s sweaty, though, skin glistening as he hits the bag and Luca says something encouraging. God, he looks good even with the black eye, tape over the bridge of his nose, shoulders hunched as he shifts on the balls of his feet.

“Good,” Luca says as Martino just stands there, stupidly, watching Nico like a voyeur. “Remember to always be watching out the corner of your eye. You have to anticipate where the next hit is coming from.”

Nico nods at Luca’s words, and it’s his eyes darting behind the bag that catch Martino. Martino’s stomach shoots up as if in freefall, like the sudden plummet from a rollercoaster. He knows Nico notices the way he freezes up from the way Niccolò’s eyebrow twitches at him.

“Martino, right?” Nico asks without pausing in his punches, but Luca whips around, surprised.

“What are you doing here?”

The question catches Martino off-guard. He doesn’t have an answer, and he can only shrug, watching the way Nico is hiding his smile, head ducked down, like maybe he suspects something.

There’s nothing to suspect, Martino thinks firmly.

“I just thought maybe I’d get in a workout,” he says dumbly, and Luca’s eyebrows rise even further at that.

“But you never work out,” Luca says, and Martino wishes he wouldn’t. Not in front of Niccolò, who is definitely smiling now, finally stopping hitting the bag and holding it steady, using his free hand to wipe the sweat from his brow.

“Can you get me a water, Luca?” Nico asks as Martino refrains from smacking a hand to his face.

“Sure,” Luca says, though he still seems confused, and Martino doesn’t let out a breath as Luca heads across the room.

As he turns, he doesn’t expect to find Niccolò watching him.

“What?”

Nico just shrugs, jerking his head at the punching bag. “Wanna get a few in?”

“Oh, I’m not—” Martino says, shaking his head. Not athletic, not coordinated, not here to actually work out. He doesn’t manage to finish his sentence as Nico smiles again, and Martino can’t help thinking about absolutely beautiful he is. “Does that hurt?” he blurts out instead, nodding at Nico’s nose.

Nico raises a hand, gingerly pressing his fingers to the bridge. “Not the first time it’s been broken. Won’t be the last either.”

Shaking his head, Martino sticks his hands in his back pockets. “Why would you choose a sport where you get hit in the face? Your face is…” He barely stops himself from saying something incredibly revealing about what he’s thinking.

“My face is what?” Nico asks, curious, and Martino looks away, grimacing.

“You-you have good bone structure?” he says, stupidly, wishing he hadn’t said anything at all. “I mean, scientifically.”

“Scientifically?” Nico repeats, eyebrows rising, and Martino feels himself sinking deeper and deeper into this hole he’s digging for himself.

“Culturally,” he tries to correct himself, as if it’s helping at all. Nico probably thinks he’s a complete idiot. “Men with angular jaws, strong brow, high forehead…” He has to stop himself. He can feel his face getting red even as Niccolò nods.

“Right,” he agrees after a second. “Okay.” He smiles, though, and Martino forces himself to take a breath.

He’s usually not this weird when it comes to guys. He doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone as gorgeous as Nico, though, and he’s not apt to again.

“So are you a scientist?” Nico asks after a second, and Martino wonders if Luca went to the Andes to get that water. “Or do you just like to study guy’s faces?”

Martino huffs, sarcastic, because it’s easier than feeling like an idiot when Nico asks.

“I work for a drug research company,” he says and Nico bites his lip. Martino feels his stomach flip over at the action. What is wrong with him? He’s seen plenty of hot guys before. He’s even managed to hold a decent conversation, but with Niccolò, it’s like all rational thought goes out the window. “Well, I enter data for them since apparently, in order to do actual research in the field, according to them, you have to have _worked_ in the field, and I never did a residency after uni.”

It’s total bullshit, he thinks. He has the same qualifications and degrees as everyone else. Maybe they just don’t like him.

“Do I detect a hint of bitterness?” Nico asks, teasing, and Martino can’t even be annoyed.

“Once the old guys retire, I’ll get where I want to be,” he assures Nico instead. He pauses. “Where do you work that lets you come in with a black eye?”

“I freelance,” Nico says simply. “A little bit of everything, but I make most of my money writing commercial jingles.”

“Seriously?” Martino doesn’t know what he expected, but that isn’t it.

Nico laughs as he nods. “Seriously.”

Martino finds himself smiling too as Luca finally returns with a bottle of water.

“Thanks,” Niccolò says as Luca hands it over and Martino arches an eyebrow.

“Did you go all the way to Mt. Everest for that, Luchi?”

Luca looks confused as he shakes his head. “I was just talking to Vincenzo about the match next week. He thinks Nico has a good shot against Pietro.”

“I think I need a bit more training with my great coach,” Nico says, and Luca beams. It’s strange to see Luca so happy about a job, Martino thinks. Luca’s been bouncing around jobs for so long, Martino had begun to think that was just what he did.

“Well, we’re done for today. You should definitely go eat something,” Luca says. Food, now there’s the Luchino Marti knows. He hasn’t totally changed. “Marti, were you serious about working out?”

Martino has never been less serious about anything. “No, Luchi, I don’t want to barge in on your schedule,” he says, smoother than before with Nico seemingly smirking at him over Luca’s shoulder.

Luca nods, blissfully not suspicious at all of Martino’s motives for coming in here. It had mostly been to avoid Emma, but partially in the hope of seeing Nico with his shirt off again.

“Okay,” Luca says easily. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

Shit. Now Martino has to leave. Now that he doesn’t have an excuse, it’s not like he can keep awkwardly hanging around a gym, not working out, just so he can keep talking to Nico.

“If you’re not going to get sweaty,” Nico says, smiling slightly as Luca walks away, leaving them alone again, “there’s this new restaurant I wanted to try. As Luca says, it’s important to refuel after a workout.”

“Luchi thinks it’s important to _refuel_ after doing anything,” Martino points out, but he can’t help thinking that Nico is asking him out. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to eat alone. Either way, Martino doesn’t know why he hasn’t said yes yet. “But I could eat.”

Nico nods, biting his bottom lip, almost as though Martino amuses him. “Well, I need to shower, unless you want to spend the whole evening with my musk.”

Martino wouldn’t mind. He wouldn’t mind at all as his gaze flicks down to the sweat-soaked neck of Nico’s shirt. But he doesn’t say it, keeping that particular thought to himself.

Instead, he swallows and jerks his head. “Okay.” 

Nico smiles in return, a soft warmth to his eyes that makes Martino’s chest curl into a knot. “Okay.”

Martino actually sighs as Niccolò heads for the locker room, but he catches himself, shaking his head and looking away. He can’t let himself get lost in fantasies of a guy he barely knows. He has to stay in reality, where he can’t be disappointed.

*

The restaurant is farther than Martino expects, closer to his apartment than the gym, but they walk there in the chilly autumn evening and Niccolò tells Martino about all of the jingles he’s written, some Martino even knows from TV. He does wish it was a little warmer out, mostly because Nico is hidden underneath an oversized coat now, but it still manages to make Martino’s mind wander to unwrapping him one piece of clothing at a time, uncovering his body like a present.

Martino doesn’t usually pay this much attention to what guys look like, but maybe he’s just never seen anyone as beautiful as Niccolò in person. Abs like that only exist on TV or photoshopped advertisements.

Nico isn’t just good-looking empty shell, though, and Martino finds himself laughing over the calamari as Nico says that he could write a jingle for a drug commercial if anyone asked.

“How would that go?” Martino asks, skeptical, laughing as Nico’s eyebrows went up. 

“Easy. ‘Calimexiprin—may cause drymouth, nausea, and migraines, but think of all the loving time you’ll gain.’”

Snorting with laughter, Martino shakes his head. “I’ll put that in the suggestion box at work.”

“I hope you do,” Nico says simply. “And make sure I get the rights on that.”

Reaching for his wine glass, Martino leans on the table, not as interested in his food as he is in watching the way Nico lights up when he talks. The restaurant around them is a small place, tables crowded against exposed brick walls, but it’s not fancy at all except for the red candles glowing on the tables. It’s fairly crowded considering it’s early in the night, and no one has given Nico’s black eye a second glance.

“Why did you want to start doing MMA?” Martino asks as he takes a sip. The wine hasn’t gone to his head yet, but he’s feeling loose and warm as Nico smiles at him across the table.

Nico shrugs. “I hadn’t really heard much about it until I started going to this new gym. My old gym, they got a new owner and the culture started changing. I didn’t really feel comfortable there anymore.” He shrugs again, and Martino wonders what that means. “But I found this one, and I saw a match one day and I thought it looked fun.”

“Getting beaten to a pulp is fun?” Martino asked, eyebrows raised.

Nico laughs, pushing a curl out of his face. “When I’m in a match, I feel like I don’t have to think about whatever else is going on in my life. I can just focus on being present in the fight. Working out, fighting, it’s kind of a release. I don’t even really care if I win or if I’m good.”

“What about the pain?” Martino can’t imagine walking around with bruises all the time, even if they might look very good on Nico.

Nico pauses, fingers steepled against his lips. “Sometimes, it’s like a reminder that I’m still here.” He glances up at Martino, as if unsure he’s said the right thing.

“Why would you need a reminder?” Martino asks, watching how Nico quirks a smile, as though to make light.

“Sometimes life can be overwhelming,” he says after a second, and Martino nods slowly.

“I guess.” His life certainly isn’t perfect, between his job and all his friends who seem to be moving forward without him. He doesn’t want to think about that right now, not with Nico sitting across from him at the small table, small enough that their feet bump together whenever they move. They’ve been there long enough that the candle has melted completely, the wick burning in a puddle of wax. 

For a moment, neither of them say anything, and Martino takes another sip of his wine. It’s been a while since he went on a proper date, and he’s not sure if that’s what this is, but it kind of feels like it. It feels like it when Nico smiles at him, candlelight flickering over his face. It feels like it when Nico’s foot knocks into his, gentle, purposeful, and Martino can’t bite back his smile.

“Are you saying you wouldn’t do MMA?” Nico asks as silverwear clinks in the background, the soft sounds of music floating below the conversations of the other people at the restaurant.

Martino scoffs. “Are you kidding? I would die. Are there even any rules?”

“Of course there are rules,” Nico says, laughing easily, leaning forward on the table. “No biting, no gouging, no blows to the back of the head or spine.”

“Sounds great,” Martino mutters, rolling his eyes, and Nico just grins, eyes crinkled. “How do you even know if you win?”

“It’s called a knockout,” Nico says simply. “Either your opponent passes out or they tap out.”

“I know some people are into choking, but that just seems extreme.”

Nico just laughs at Martino, shaking his head. “I like the rush of fighting. I bet you’d like it too.”

Pausing, Martino glances up at the way Nico is watching him, intent, and he feels his chest swelling as he takes a breath. He definitely likes the way Nico looks all roughed up, is stopping himself of thinking about the bruises underneath his clothes right now.

“Maybe I’ll have to try it sometime,” he finds himself saying behind his wine glass, and Nico just smiles across the table at him.

*

“You tried to fit him in a suitcase?” Nico asks, and Martino holds up a hand.

“In our defense, we were sixteen and unsupervised in Greece.”

Nico laughs, shaking his head. “Poor Luca.”

“It was his idea,” Martino assures Nico, swirling what’s left in his wine glass. He thinks this is his second, but he hasn’t really been paying attention, too wrapped up in the way Nico smiles—all teeth, like he’s not holding anything back. It makes Martino’s chest clench stupidly, like an idiot in love even though he’s only really known Nico for a few hours.

“So you’ve known Luca since you were sixteen?” Nico asks, leaning back in his chair, foot bumping into Martino’s under the table. He wonders if it’s intentional. “How come you haven’t been to the gym until now?”

“I’m just not into MMA, I guess,” he says, shrugging, watching Nico lean forward, a half-smile on his face.

“What changed today?”

“Today?” Martino pauses, thinking back to Emma, the way she always seems to corner him and how terrible he is at thinking on the spot. “Honestly, there’s this girl at work who keeps trying to get me to go out with her and I just said the first thing I could think of about going to the gym.”

Nico nods slowly. “Why don’t you just tell her you’re seeing someone? Wouldn’t that work better?”

Sighing, Martino finishes what’s left in his glass. “It would. I just can’t lie about things like that.” He doesn’t know what it is, but he can’t tell Emma there’s someone when there isn’t. Besides, she’d probably want to meet whoever it was, and then he’d be screwed.

“So you’re not seeing anyone?” Nico asks, and Martino glances up, a smile curling his mouth as he shakes his head.

“No.”

He wonders for a second if Nico is going to ask him out—as if this isn’t like a date already.

“Have you ever been to Milan?” Nico asks instead, abruptly, and Martino blinks, surprised at the change of subject.

“Once, a long time ago.”

“There’s a really cool bar there, designed by Wes Anderson,” Nico says. “I think you’d like it.”

“Who’s Wes Anderson?”

Nico’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. “ _Marti._ Wes Anderson is only the best movie director of all time.”

Martino still doesn’t know who that is, so he shrugs. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Biting his lip, Nico’s hand falls close to Martino’s on the table, inches away, and Martino can’t help looking at it.

“What I like most about Wes Anderson is that he tells you exactly what he wants you to know. He tells it through the color of the film, through the details, without the characters having to say anything sometimes. Sometimes I wish people would just understand without me having to say anything.”

Martino understands, and he nods as they sit there, listening to the clink of silverwear, low conversations on either side. Somehow, he feels like he gets Nico, even though it’s only been a few hours, even though they’ve only talked about music and MMA and Martino’s stupid job.

“So you’re into artsy films?” Martino asks, and Nico shrugs easily.

“I like a little bit of everything. Why limit yourself?”

Martino laughs despite himself. “You’re definitely not like what I thought gym guys would be.”

Nico’s eyebrows go up and he smiles. “You thought we were all muscle-heads?”

Martino shrugs. “I just didn’t expect… you.” It’s true, but it comes out so weirdly sentimental that he wants to cringe. Nico is going to think he’s an idiot.

But Nico smiles, reaching for the pepper shaker, fingers brushing against Martino’s, gentle, electric, and he licks his lips.

“People can surprise you.”

It’s more true than Nico even knows, Martino thinks, taking a breath as Nico’s fingers slide away and grabbing his empty wine glass instead.

*

Martino doesn’t know how long they’ve been in the restaurant by the time they finally pay the check and leave, stepping out into the chilly night air. Time has slipped away from him every minute he’s been with Nico, far more interested in hearing Niccolò talk about his art projects that he does on the side, more interested in how Nico smiles at every stupid story he tells, how it makes his stomach all wiggly.

“Do you live far?” Nico asks as he buttons his coat and they pause on the corner.

“A couple blocks,” Martino says, glancing down the dark street dotted with orange lamps. “You?”

“Same,” Nico says, and he’s looking at Martino instead of the street. Aside from a few passing cars, there’s no one around, and it feels like they’re the only two people in the universe for a second.

This is it, Martino thinks as they stand there, electricity crackling in his ears, and he isn’t sure if anyone else can hear it.

“I have coffee at my place if you want a pick-me-up,” he says before he can rethink. He doesn’t want this evening to end so quickly, not when Nico’s smile makes his stomach twist anxiously, excitedly.

“Coffee sounds good,” Nico agrees, and Martino nods, starting across the street as his brain automatically flits to his apartment. Is it clean? He doesn’t even know.

The few blocks to his apartment seem to take forever as they walk and he can practically feel Nico at his side, the way his arm brushes against his every now and then, the way he sneaks glances at Nico, catches him looking back, and swallows down the anticipation building in his chest as they finally reach his building.

“Nice place,” Nico says after Martino struggles with the sticky lock and gets the door open. Martino thinks Nico is being nice considering the apartment is the size of a postage stamp and all his furniture came second-hand. It’s not exactly pristine either, as Martino grabs a sweatshirt off the floor as he crosses to the kitchen nook and rummages in the cupboard for the coffee.

He doesn’t exactly find it as he feels more than hears Nico step up behind him. His heart beats in his chest as he turns from the cupboard to Nico behind him, leaning a hip against the countertop, his coat discarded on the sofa behind him.

They don’t say anything for a second, and Martino doesn’t need Nico to say anything. He’s just looking for the coffee because it’s what he’s supposed to do, not because it’s what he wants to do.

The air feels thick as Martino steps forward, into Nico’s space, and they sort of meet in the middle. The first kiss is slow, Nico leaning into Martino, as if he’s been waiting for this, hands on Martino’s neck, pulling him closer.

Martino _has_ been waiting for this, even if he didn’t know it until now, until Nico’s lips press against his, soft but firm, heated as he opens his mouth to Nico’s tongue and pushes closer. Nico draws him in with a sigh, a throb deep in his chest, fingers curling in Martino’s hair, tugging him against him.

“Ow,” Nico mumbles as Martino accidentally bumps his nose.

“Sorry,” Martino says quickly, pulling back, a hand on the counter to brace himself, gulping down air, his lips tingling, but Nico just shakes his head, pulling Martino back to his lips, hot and heady as they stumble out of the kitchen nook and back into the living room.

It’s Martino’s apartment but he barely knows where he’s going until they hit a door, his bedroom door, and he tries to grope for the handle behind him, but he’s distracted by the heat of Nico everywhere, how he can slide his hands down Nico’s sides and tug at his shirt instead, get his fingers hooked under the waistband of Nico’s jeans and tug.

Nico’s kisses are intense, short, maddening as Martino wants to keep him there, to explore every inch of his mouth, take all the time in the world until his lips are sore and he can’t kiss anymore.

He falls back as the door behind him swings open, Nico’s hand on the knob. Catching himself, he tugs Nico after him, not concerned with being cool, not seeming overeager because, fuck, he is. He wants Nico’s clothes off, wants Nico on the bed, wants Nico underneath him.

Martino barely gets the lamp clicked on, a swath of light falling over the messy bed, sheets bunched at the end from where he’d left it that morning. He gets the light on, but Nico’s hands are on his shirt, pulling, getting it over his head and onto the floor. Martino’s far more interested in Nico’s shirt landing with his, the warm light falling over the planes of his stomach, the dip in his collar bone, the purplish bruise on his ribcage that’s almost the size of his hand.

They land on the bed, Nico beneath him, pulling Martino on top, down, kisses deep and hot now, sending all the blood rushing from Martino’s brain, leaving him dizzy. 

His hands slide down Nico’s chest without thinking, skin flushed, wanting to feel everything. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this on edge, this eager to touch someone. As his fingers reach the edge of the bruise, he feels Nico flinch, breaking the kiss with a sharp inhale.

Pausing, Martino pulls back, eyes darting to the bruise, heart beating fast as he glances up at Nico.

“Can I?” he asks, quiet, watching Nico swallow, nod, eyes dark as he bites his lip.

Marti doesn’t know what it is about seeing someone like this, someone as pretty as Niccolò, with his skin mottled and darkened, sensitive to every touch as Martino’s fingertips carefully circle the bruise, graze over the darkest part, but it turns him on more than he’s ever been. His heart beats in his throat, skin tingling as he takes his time, tracing every bruise peppered over Nico’s chest, yellow and purple. The scratch across his collarbone is healing, and Nico licks his lips as Martino’s fingers glide up the line of his collar.

He’s fascinated by Nico, how firm his abs are under his hands, how Nico sighs underneath him when Martino presses an experimental kiss to his collar, slides down his ribs, spends a minute too long mouthing along his hip bone. He feels Nico stretch, fingers buried in his hair, tugging gently, urging him on.

Martino isn’t usually the one to take control during sex, but he can’t help himself with Niccolò. He just wants to touch everything, to see him completely naked, spread out beneath him. Martino also doesn’t usually sleep with guys he barely knows, but he’s not thinking about that right now as he fumbles with the button on Nico’s jeans.

As Martino moves, he feels Nico beneath him, his clear interest and a shiver crawls up his spine. “God, you’re gorgeous,” he mumbles against Nico’s stomach, and he feels Nico’s laugh.

“You’re not bad yourself,” Nico breathes, hands finding their way to Martino’s hair, tugging him up, forcing him to shift the focus from his jeans back to his mouth, the soft, slow slide of tongues, heat building between them.

Nico surprises Martino when he rolls them over a second later, pauses as he gazes down at Martino, and Martino’s chest clenches, nervous again, desperate, wanting. He closes his eyes as Nico kisses him, bites down on his bottom lip, a rush of heat on his skin as he lets out a soft noise.

“Thought biting wasn’t allowed,” he manages to mumble, trying to joke, not really focused enough to care as Nico kisses him deeply and he digs his fingers into the back of Nico’s neck.

He feels Nico smile, lips lingering against his, Nico’s fingers trailing down his collarbone, his whole body on fire. 

“This isn’t fighting,” Nico whispers, and Martino can only very much agree. This isn’t fighting at all.

Instead, he pulls Nico in, back to his mouth, and everything blurs together as Martino gets lost in the slick slide of tongues a minute later.

*

Something is making noise as Martino lays there, snuggled under the covers, warm and sleepy. Something is making a lot of noise and he groans as he reaches for his phone to shut off the alarm blaring in his ear. Cracking his eyes open, he blinks at the wall for a second, rolling onto his back with a sigh.

Glancing over, he expects to find Niccolò, maybe asleep on the pillow, hair mussed but still perfect. 

There’s a dent in the pillow but no Nico. Just a piece of paper and Martino gropes for in the pale morning light, rubbing away the sleep before he can focus properly on the few words scrawled there.

_Thanks for last night_   
_\- N_

Martino frowns as he rereads the note. That’s all there is. Nothing on the back, no phone number, no other notes that Martino can see as he glances around the messy bedroom. All of Niccolò’s clothes are gone and the rest of the apartment is silent.

Martino wonders when he left, if he snuck out right after Martino fell asleep or if he waited until the morning. He’s not sure which would make him feel better.

One-night stands are not something Martino typically does. He’s had one, way back in college. He’d been slightly drunk and sad and had met some guy at a club that he doesn’t even remember. He’d never even asked that guy’s name. It hadn’t left him feeling very good about himself afterward.

Lying there, Martino drops his hand still holding the note. Last night… he’d thought last night had gone rather well. He can still feel Nico’s mouth on him, and he closes his eyes as he relives it for a second. He can still see the way Nico had smiled at him as they lay together afterward, feel his soft kisses, the warmth blossoming in Martino’s chest.

He hadn’t thought he’d wake up to an empty bed somehow.

But he has, and as Martino blinks at the ceiling, he isn’t sure what to think.

Maybe it’s one of those perfect nights, one of those nights you only get once in a lifetime—a night where everything lines up exactly as it should. Maybe it’s one of those nights you never get again and seeing Nico would just ruin the memory.

Marti has never had one of those. He’s never met someone like Niccolò, someone he just clicked with, someone he’d been so immediately attracted to. He’d felt the butterflies before, the nerves and excitement of first kisses, but it hadn’t been like this.

The note crumples in his fist as he sighs. Maybe that’s all it needs to be, he tells himself. He doesn’t have Nico’s phone number, doesn’t know where he lives, and from the note, it seems that’s how Nico wants it.

Still, he can’t help but wonder if it was something he did as his alarm goes off again and he lets it play this time, filling the otherwise silent room.

*

Martino checks his phone, not sure what he’s expecting to find, but there’s no notification on the screen, no unread messages, no missed calls. Sighing, he set it down on the corner of his desk and rubs his forehead. It’s been three days since he saw Nico, and he’d kind of thought that Nico might at least message him in that time, but no. There’s been nothing.

He knows Nico doesn’t have his phone number, but he could get it. Nico could ask Luca for it, and Luca would be more than happy to provide it. Martino knows that.

Sitting behind his desk, a stack of papers waiting to be entered, Martino doesn’t feel like doing anything.

It’s stupid, he tells himself firmly. He should be glad he got any kind of time with Nico. One amazing night together. A lot of people would be perfectly happy with that, but not Martino. No, he has to sit there and stew and wonder what’s so repellent about himself that Nico hadn’t even stayed for breakfast. He knows he isn’t as good-looking as Nico, as quirky or weird. Maybe he is just too boring.

_Too boring_. He’s heard that before, from many many boyfriends.

Slumping on his elbows, Martino glares at his screen, the blinking cursor. He wonders if women find him as boring as guys do. It’s not like he _tries_ to be boring, although he certainly doesn’t try to be anything other than himself either.

Apparently women don’t find him as boring because Martino hears her before she arrives at his desk. Emma, smiling easily, hair tied up today in messy bun, as if she can sense that he’s down, that maybe he’ll be more receptive to her advances today.

Martino can guarantee he won’t be and he’s too annoyed to think of an excuse as she slides up beside him.

“Hey, Marti,” she greets him cheerfully. “Are you doing anything tonight? A couple of us are going for sushi later.”

Martino doesn’t understand how she still doesn’t get it. He’s been nothing but apathetic towards her advances since she started working there a few months ago. He’s come up with an excuse every time. He never talks to her on his own. He can’t think of any time he’s actually seemed interested at all.

His phone vibrating is the only thing that stops him from telling her flat-out that he has absolutely no plans but he still doesn’t want to go out with her.

It’s not an unknown number that pops up in the text message and he feels his heart drop a little. He doesn’t know why he keeps hoping.

_My dear Rose, it’s Titanic night at Club 23 and I expect you to come with!_

Martino sighs a little at Filippo’s message, but at least it’s better than spending the night with Emma. He’d only spend the whole night wishing she was Nico. Which is not healthy for anyone.

He types his response to Filippo before he can talk himself out of it. He has no idea what a Titanic night entails, but if Filippo is involved, it’s likely there will be alcohol. Martino could use some of that right now.

“I’m going out with a friend actually,” he says, and Emma doesn’t seem surprised.

“You’re always doing something, aren’t you?”

For a second, Martino realizes what that sounds like. It sounds like he’s actually busy, not boring, and he almost laughs. If she only knew.

“Yeah,” he just says and she sighs.

“I’m going to get you out with us some day.”

Martino doesn’t argue, but he really doubts it. He’s glad when she heads off for the lab, though, and he’s left alone. Not that his thoughts are anything to keep him company. They just keep going back to Nico, Nico at the restaurant, the fond way he’d smiled at him, how he’d practically invited himself over to Martino’s, the way he’d drawn Martino to him with soft, strong hands for their first kiss. If that hadn’t been something, what was it?

He keeps thinking of Nico laughing when his pants got caught around his ankles, how Nico rolled over on top of him halfway through, the way Martino’s heart had thudded, suddenly nervous with Nico looking at him like that.

Shaking away the thoughts, Martino sighs. Obviously it was just a one-night thing for Nico and Martino has to get over that.

At least he has something to look forward to tonight, he thinks as Filippo texts him the details. As long as there is alcohol, he’ll be fine.

*

“I don’t understand what the problem is,” Filippo says over the sounds of Celina Dion over the club speakers, a weird techno-version of a song Martino is pretty sure should never have been made. He takes a gulp of whatever drink Filippo has ordered him—it’s fruity and sweet but he already feels the alcohol flooding his brain. “Sometimes, those are exactly the kind of nights you need. The sex was good, right?”

Martino shoots him a look over his glass and Filippo rolls his eyes.

“I’m going to take that as a yes,” he says, leaning into Martino, nudging his shoulder. “So good sex with an incredibly hot guy, and you’re upset somehow?”

“I’m not upset,” Martino argues, although he doesn’t really know what he is. The bar counter is sticky and Martino makes a face as he turns to face the dance floor.

“Then what are you?” Filippo asks, annoying, curious, raising his eyebrows at Martino through the flashing lights.

“I don’t know,” Martino admits. It’s so easy for Filippo, he thinks, who is into this kind of thing. Filippo’s gone through so many guys since Martino has known him, he can’t even keep them straight. And Filippo never seems upset about any of it. “How do you do it?”

“Are you asking me for advice?” Filippo says, pressing a hand to his chest, dramatically, and Martino barely refrains from rolling his eyes.

“Not if you’re going to be dramatic about it.”

“Oh, honey,” Filippo says easily, draping an arm over Martino’s shoulders and gesturing to the sea of guys in the club. “I look at every one like an opportunity. The one you meet tonight may not be the one, but there’s no harm in enjoying yourself.”

Sighing, Martino lets his gaze travel over the crowd, some of the guys wearing period ascots and jackets that have very little to do with Titanic. Any one of them might be someone he could date, someone he could go out with. But he just doesn’t want to.

“I just thought…” he says slowly, jerking his shoulders. “Yeah, he was good-looking, but he was also funny and cute and kind of an idiot.”

“Ah, so kind of your type exactly?” Filippo says, laughing even as Martino frowns. “Listen, Marti, you know my motto: the past is the past so we celebrate tonight. And tonight, you are here with me and we are going to have an amazing time. I guarantee by the end, you won’t even be thinking of this Niccolò guy.”

Martino doesn’t perk up immediately, draining his drink. “You don’t think it’s me, do you?”

“Fuck no,” Filippo says, sincere, squeezing Martino’s arm. “Anyone would be lucky to have a one-night stand with my Rose.”

“You have to say that,” Martino mutters, and Filippo scoffs.

“I absolutely do not. You know I only speak the truth, and that’s the truth.”

Maybe he feels a tiny bit better as Filippo takes his arm and pulls him toward the dance floor.

“Come on,” Filippo says, pulling Martino to him even as Martino groans. “We’ll find someone better for you to obsess over.”

Martino isn’t sure he wants to, but he also isn’t sure how much longer he can go on thinking about Nico without any kind of answer to his questions. So he lets Filippo laugh at his terrible dancing and tries to forget about the other night and the fact that he probably won’t ever see Nico again.

*

A muffled television plays through the wall, cars rushing past on the street below, the wail of an ambulance, and Martino doesn’t get up to turn on a light aside from the blinky lamp on the table beside the couch. Scrolling through the posts on his phone, Martino sighs. He’s not particularly interested in what Silvia cooked for dinner or what bar Elia is at right now.

He pauses on Eva’s post—a shot of the half-decorated nursery, a question about ducks versus bears, and he doesn’t bother leaving a comment.

Instead, he pulls up Luca’s account and scrolls through the many pictures of Luca and Silvia, shots of gym equipment and food, until one catches his eye.

He doesn’t know why he didn’t notice when Luca first posted this photograph—weeks ago. But there’s Niccolò training, looking particularly focused as he hoists the weight over his chest. Even on the tiny screen, he looks good, muscles straining, a sheen of sweat on his skin, and Martino sighs.

How had he never noticed Nico before? There are more shots, Luca talking about upcoming matches, excited posts when Nico does actually win. Nico is never tagged, though, and Martino sinks down into the worn couch cushions as he sets the phone down.

He doesn’t know why he’s still thinking about Niccolò. It’s been almost a week since that night. Obviously Nico isn’t interested in doing anything more. If he was, he would have called or texted or _something_ , right?

This is how one-night-stands are supposed to go, Martino reminds himself firmly, pulling a pillow into his lap and feeling only slightly pathetic that it’s been days and he still can’t get Nico out of his mind. Other people have no problems hooking up with hot guys and never seeing them again. Why can’t Martino be like that? Why does he have to dwell on Nico’s smile, the way he’d smiled at Martino complaining about his job, had touched his arm gently as if he understood? Why does remembering that make Martino’s heart throb as if it meant anything more than it did?

He’s a complete idiot, he decides, tossing the pillow away. He should learn to just enjoy the moment. 

But he can’t, and he groans, letting his head roll back on the couch. It’s cold in his apartment, the radiator sputtering under the dark window, and he chews on his lip as he gazes up at the plaster swirls on the ceiling.

Martino hasn’t had a lot of relationships. At least, not ones he would consider serious. There have been a few here and there he might have thought… but in the end, someone had screwed it up. Usually him, but who’s counting. And it isn’t as if he knows after one date with Nico that there’s something there, something serious. He’s been on plenty of bad first dates where he didn’t want to see the guy again, but he’s never been on a first date where he’d thought maybe he could wake up next to this guy forever.

Sitting there, Martino very much doubts Nico is thinking of him like this. Niccolò probably hasn’t even thought about him since that night. Nico’s probably one of those guys who can have a hook-up and not spend the next week obsessing over it.

His phone vibrates where it has slipped in between the cushions and Martino pulls it out.

_You coming over for dinner tomorrow? Eva says you have to,_ is Gio’s message and Martino stares at the phone for a long minute before typing in his response.

_I guess so._

_Try for a little more enthusiasm when you get here,_ is all Gio replies, and Martino sets the phone aside.

He’s not really thinking about dinner, watching the wavering lamplight casting shadows on the walls. He’s still thinking about Nico, despite everything, as the evening fades into night and he finds no answers in the darkness.

*

“I’d ask your opinion on nursery colors, but I already know what your answer would be,” Eva says as she sets down the bread on the table, leaning against the chair. She isn’t showing quite yet, but it’s weird to think that there’s a baby in there.

Martino takes a swig of his beer and shrugs. “What’s wrong with blue?”

Even Gio rolls his eyes as he comes in from the kitchen and takes the seat next to Eva. “There’s a whole world of colors out there, bro.”

Martino merely makes a face. Once he finds something he likes, he sticks with it.

“Have you thought of names yet?” he asks instead, watching how Gio scoots closer to Eva. Even though they’ve been together for years, they still manage to act like newlyweds. It shouldn’t bother Martino, and it doesn’t except when he thinks that it’s something he might never have. “May I suggest Martino for a boy? Martina for a girl.”

Gio kicks him under the table. “You really think you’re special, don’t you?”

“Aren’t I?” Martino asks, but he’s joking. The truth is that he’s clearly not special enough for Nico. Nico. He shouldn’t even be thinking about it.

“How about Gia if it’s a girl?” Eva suggests, and Gio shakes his head. 

“We’re not naming our kid after ourselves,” he says firmly. “That’s narcissism to the extreme.”

Eva rolls her eyes at Martino. “Says the guy who checks his hair in every mirror he sees.”

“I do not!” Gio argues, reaching for Eva, tickling her as she squeals and tries to squirm away.

“Okay, okay,” Martino says, holding up a hand to stop this disgusting display of affection that cuts deeper than it should. It isn’t as if he hasn’t seen their whole relationship evolve, from the weird flirting even when Gio was dating Eva’s best friend, to the whole mess afterward and them finally getting back together, but it had made them stronger somehow. “That’s enough.”

Eva shoots him a look as Gio finally stops tickling her and sets a protective hand on her stomach. “If you had a boyfriend, you wouldn’t be saying that.”

“Well, I don’t,” he mutters, annoyed as he crosses his arms. He doesn’t even have a casual hook-up with Nico.

Gio glances at him across the table, jerking his chin. “Luchi said you came down to the gym on your own the other day. You finally realize it’s full of sweaty guys?”

“Ha ha,” Martino mocks, but he can’t exactly argue. “I only went to avoid that girl at work who keeps asking me out.”

Across the table, Eva shakes her head. “Can’t you just tell her you’re not interested?”

“She should just get it,” he says, annoyed when Eva laughs.

“Not everyone understands your special way of communicating, Marti.”

Unamused, Martino drains what’s left of his beer and grabs a piece of bread instead, tearing it apart. He knows he isn’t the best at saying what’s on his mind, or saying it the ‘right’ way, whatever way that is. He wishes people would just understand without him having to spell everything out. Was that too much to ask?

“Luchi said you were getting along pretty well with one of the guys,” Gio goes on, grinning at Martino as if he knows anything about it.

“What does he know?” Martino mutters, not missing the way Gio frowns, confused, glances at Eva as she slides into her chair.

“All he said was that you were talking to some guy.” Gio pauses, watching Martino in that way Martino hates. Like he knows something is wrong. “Did something happen?”

Huffing, Martino sits back in his chair. “Nothing happened.”

It’s a total lie, and Gio has to know. Gio always knows.

It’s the silence that breaks Martino, the way no one says anything. Eva’s fingers drum on the table and Gio fixes Martino with a look that makes Martino want to look away.

“Okay, we went out,” he says quickly, jerking his shoulders. He doesn’t really want to talk about it. He’s already talked about it with Filippo, and that did absolutely no good. “We went out and we hooked up and I haven’t talked to him since.”

“You had a one-night-stand?” Eva asks, sounding surprised, as though she can’t quite believe it.

“So?” Martino snaps even though he knows he shouldn’t. He’s not upset with her.

She shrugs. “It’s just not like you.”

Scowling, he doesn’t reply. It’s _not_ like him, and he doesn’t want it to be like him.

“Why haven’t you talked to him?” Gio asks, calmly, and Martino shakes his head.

“He was gone before I even got up. Clearly, he didn’t want to stay and talk.” Martino hasn’t had very many one-night-stands, but that feels like how it’s supposed to go.

“I’m confused,” Eva says slowly, frowning at Martino. “You seem upset. Why is this such a big deal?”

It shouldn’t be. Martino shouldn’t even be thinking about Nico.

Under both Gio and Eva’s gaze, Martino feels something snap deep inside as Gio slides a comfortable arm over Eva’s shoulders.

“I liked him,” he mutters finally, feels stupid admitting it. “I thought it might go somewhere, but obviously, that’s not what he wanted.”

For a second, no one speaks. Gio’s fingers are playing with Eva’s hair and Martino looks away. It isn’t as if he hasn’t been there for the whole evolution of their relationship, but it feels different now. Now that they’re going to have a baby, now that everyone else is moving forward in their careers or relationships and he’s exactly where he’s always been.

“How do you know?” Gio asks finally and Martino looks up.

“Know?”

“That that’s all he wanted. You haven’t talked to him.”

Annoyed, Martino shakes his head. No one ever listens. “He hasn’t talked to me,” he points out. “He just disappeared. Why would you do that otherwise?”

“You don’t know what he was thinking,” Gio says simply.

Frowning, Martino scoffs. “So what? I’m supposed to assume there’s another reason why he ducked out without saying anything? I should go put myself out on a limb for a guy who hasn’t even tried to talk to me?”

“How do you know he’s not thinking the exact same thing?”

Martino opens his mouth to respond but stops. It can’t be that simple.

Next to Gio, Eva glances between them before reaching out for Martino’s arm. “It’s scary, taking that first step, but sometimes it works out exactly how you want.”

“I’m not saying I want to marry this guy,” Martino says, shaking his head, although his heart pulses annoyingly at that. “It just felt different.”

Gio smiles slightly this time. “When you know, you know.”

Rolling his eyes, Martino huffs. “You’re a wealth of knowledge.”

“Love wizard,” Gio says simply and Eva laughs, hugging him.

They’re the worst, Martino decides, but maybe they’re not wrong. Maybe they’re not wrong.

*

Martino can feel how fast his heart is beating before he even reaches for the door handle. The gym looms over him, unassuming but still ominous somehow.

He hasn’t thought about what he’s going to say, if this is even a good idea—to open up a can of worms with Nico when he could just go on his merry way. Forget about the other night, forget about Nico and try to find someone else to date.

But he’s already here, and Martino takes a breath as he pushes open the door. He doesn’t expect the wall of sound that smacks him in the face, cheers and yells and boos. The crowd is bigger than last time, and Martino’s heart catches in his throat as he sees Nico in the ring, darting out of the way of the fists coming at his face.

On the fringe of the crowd, Martino rises up on his toes to watch as Nico wipes blood from his forehead and ducks another strike, grabbing his opponent’s arm and twisting it behind his back. From here, Nico looks pretty worse for the wear, bruises spreading over his chest, blood and sweat dripping down his back, a red flush around his neck as if someone’s had their arm around it.

A collective groan rises from the crowd as the skinny guy in red shorts lands a kick to Nico’s chest and he stumbles backwards. Martino thinks he can hear Luca’s voice in the crowd, but he can’t make out any words as his heart climbs into his throat. He’s never seen a real match, not one that he cared about, but he’s pretty sure Nico is losing if the amount of blood is any indication.

Nico is focused, though, keeping his hands up to protect his face, and Martino thinks he must be tired as he moves around the ring, lands a few hits of his own, but it’s not enough. He’s slowing down, breaths heavy, chest flushed red, drenched in sweat.

A bell dings as Martino stretches up to see and the crowd seems unsatisfied as the noise increases.

“What just happened?” Martino asks the guy next to him.

“Time ran out,” the guy grunts without looking his way.

“What does that mean?” Martino asks, watching Nico, concerned as he leans against the ring and Luca climbs up to mop his brow and help him down. The guy doesn’t hear him over the chatter of the crowd, and Martino is left to watch Nico and Luca disappear into the locker rooms.

The match must be over, but Martino isn’t sure who won. There’s someone in the ring, mopping up the blood, and the crowd seems restless for the next fight. Slipping over to the locker room door, Martino pauses. He still doesn’t know what he’s going to say, if he’s supposed to just go in there and demand to know why Nico snuck out on him and didn’t bother to call?

Someone has to make the first move, he reminds himself as his legs don’t move. He’s never going to know unless he asks.

Forcing himself to open the door, Martino steps inside the dim hallway that leads to the maze of lockers.

“You did good,” he hears Luca say, hears Nico’s sigh. “You landed more hits than last time.”

“Thanks,” Nico says as Martino pokes his head around the lockers, tentative. He shouldn’t be. Nico’s the one who didn’t call. He should be indignant, annoyed. But as soon as he sees Nico, his heart throbs stupidly in his chest and he can’t bring himself to be anything other than confused.

Nico sees him first, over Luca’s shoulder, underneath the towel Luca is using to wipe the blood off his forehead. His eyes widen slightly, just for a second, surprised.

“Nice match,” Martino says, awkward, stepping around the bench. 

“Marti,” Luca says, surprised. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

Martino shrugs, watching Nico instead of Luca, taking in the cut over his eyebrow, the one on his lip. He looks worse for the wear even with the blood cleaned up.

“Did you win?” he asks Nico, who runs his tongue over the cut in his lip slowly.

“Not exactly,” he says, and Luca pats his shoulder.

“You will next time!” he assures Nico. “You’re getting better.”

Nico smiles slightly and pats Luca in return. “Always the optimist. Shouldn’t you be getting Francesco ready to fight?”

Luca nods, flashing a smile at Martino. “You gonna come watch?”

“In a minute,” Martino mutters, and he’s glad when Luca leaves, but he also feels a wave of nerves take him over as Nico lowers himself onto the bench gingerly and pokes at his bruises carefully.

Nico doesn’t say anything, grabbing the towel and dabbing at his lip, and Martino knows he should.

“You looked good up there,” he says because he can’t think of anything else. He can’t just come right out and ask Nico what the fuck he was thinking last week.

Nico glances up, just for a second. “Thanks.”

Frowning, Martino’s hands come up to his hips as he feels around for the right words. He came down here for a reason and it wasn’t to find awkward silence.

It’s going to sound stupid and pathetic and petty, but Martino can’t stop himself as he gazes down at Nico. “Why’d you sneak out?”

Nico pauses with the towel pressed against his lip. He lowers it after a second, meeting Martino’s gaze.

“I thought it would be better.”

“Better?” His eyebrows furrow as Nico rises to his feet, grimacing slightly at the effort, holding a hand to the bruise on his stomach.

“You’re cute,” Nico says, and Martino wants to be reassured, but it just makes him suspicious of what’s coming next. “And funny and smart, but I’ve been with people who were only interested in my body before. One night is fine but I’m not going to put myself through that again.”

Martino stares as Nico’s words penetrate his brain, staring after him as Nico goes to a locker and pulls out a hoodie.

“What?”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Nico says as he zips up the hoodie over his bare chest, but he doesn’t look as confident as he sounds, avoiding Martino’s gaze. “Physical attraction is part of life.”

“You think I…” Martino trails off as he realizes. Nico thinks he’s shallow, that he’s only interested in sex. Admittedly, Nico is probably the hottest guy he’s ever been with, but sex certainly isn’t the reason he’s spent the past week obsessing over why Nico left, why he didn’t call. “Fuck.”

Nico shakes his head, shrugging as though he gets it, as though it’s not surprising at all to him that Martino would only be interested in hooking up, as though that’s all anyone ever wants of him.

“It’s fine,” he says, but Martino shakes his head.

“No,” he says, a little more forcefully than he means to, catching Nico off-guard. “I mean, yes, you are beautiful, but you’re also funny and little weird, and you have too many teeth.”

Nico looks more confused than anything, but he doesn’t move away as Martino steps closer. Martino has to convince him that he’s not just some shallow douchebag, only interested in Nico’s body. Sure, he’s hot, but he’s a lot more than that. He makes Martino nervous and excited and he _wants_ to spend time with him just talking about stupid things.

“Too many teeth?” Nico repeats, eyebrows furrowed, and Martino huffs. This isn’t coming out right.

“When you didn’t talk to me after, I thought maybe I’d done something wrong. Maybe you realized what an idiot I am, maybe you were too hot for me.” He jerks his shoulder, watching the way Nico’s expression changes, softens. “I know it was only one date, but I thought…”

He can’t say that. He can’t say that after one date, he’d thought maybe Nico might be someone he could see himself with. That’s too much.

He’s almost surprised when Nico’s mouth curves into a smile and he tilts his head to the side. 

“You didn’t call me either.”

“You’re the one who left.”

Nico nods slowly at that, and Martino isn’t sure if he should feel relieved, if anything has been resolved.

“What would you have done? If I’d stayed?”

Frowning, Martino pauses. “Coffee, I guess.”

“In bed?” Nico asks, and Martino smiles despite himself, a rush drowning out his heart thudding against his ribcage.

“Of course.” Taking a breath, Martino takes the last few steps between them, eyes grazing over the cut on Nico’s forehead, angry and red, the blood drying already. Up close, he looks even more tired, but there’s a light behind his eyes as he watches Martino. “We could try this again,” he suggests slowly, nervous as Nico lifts his chin and pauses.

Then Nico smiles, teeth and all, and he nods.

“Dinner or skip straight to dessert?”

Martino can’t help smiling as Nico leans into him, the kiss soft and lingering, hands on his face. His heart is still thudding in his ears, but he’s not nervous anymore. As he kisses Nico again, a little firmer, he feels Nico laugh, grimace.

“Ow,” he mumbles, pulling back, pressing at his cut lip, and Martino smiles, a feeling of warmth washing over him as they stand there in the empty locker room.

“Dinner then dessert,” he says finally, and Nico nods in agreement.

“Sounds good to me.”

As Nico kisses him again, Martino can’t help thinking he can finally tell Emma the truth: he’s taken.

*

FIN


End file.
